


Politesse

by MiladyMorningstar (PrincessPestilence)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Etiquette, F/F, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Hobbit Hospitality, Implied/Referenced Open Relationship, Non-Explicit Sex, Off-screen Relationship(s), Sensual Play, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPestilence/pseuds/MiladyMorningstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lobelia offers to let the Lady Dís stay with her when she and Thorin arrive in Hobbiton, and is determined to show the foreigner the true meaning of Hobbit Hospitality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Politesse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ForgottenChesire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenChesire/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Into The Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/731818) by [blackdragonqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackdragonqueen/pseuds/blackdragonqueen). 



> Requested by ForgottenChesire on the Archive of Our Own (AO3) Writers group on Facebook, along with the prompt "Sunday coffee" which I switched to tea.
> 
> This was unreasonably difficult to write, since it was more about culture, body appreciation, and sensuality (rather than sex) which are all things I'm not quite used to writing. I was kind of exploring the different ways women have sex, especially the idea that lesbian sex doesn't always necessarily focus on achieving orgasm.
> 
> I did kind of enjoy playing with the dialogue, though. 
> 
> Let me know what you think of it, because this all was pretty new to me.

“But it's not fair! Otho is the next in line; by rights it should go to him!” Lobelia protested adamantly, following Bilbo as he pattered around his kitchen.

 

The older hobbit sighed irritably, which only incensed Lobelia further; if anyone had the right to be irritable it was her!

 

“My _father_ built this smial for my _mother_. It isn't a _part_ of the Baggins' estate. If it were to go to anyone _by rights_ it would go to Sigismond! As it is, I'm giving it to Drogo because he's my favourite cousin, simple as that. It isn't a _sleight_ against you and Otho. Only, in keeping with my mother's spirit, I think she would rather her house to go to her niece, Prumula Brandybuck, since the two will be married soon.”

 

Of all the ridiculous... “Drogo and Primula aren't even _courting_ yet!” Lobelia argued. “Drogo hasn't even mustered up the stones to _talk_ to her directly, let alone have any need of an early wedding present! There's no way of knowing whether they'll ever get married, and you say it's not a sleight against me and Otho but you didn't even _show up_ to _our_ wedding – off _adventuring_ with _dwarves_ of all creatures. You're giving _him_ your house and not your closet cousin?”

 

Bilbo rubbed at the bridge of his nose as if _Lobelia's_ the frustrating one. If he would only act as is _proper_ she wouldn't have to fight so hard! If Lobelia didn't make things happen then nothing ever _would_! And he thinks _she's_ the one being obstinate.

 

“You and Lotho've got grandfather's house! And I've agreed to give you all my silver for free – as a wedding present! I don't know why you're still arguing about it anyway, the papers are already signed!”

 

Just as Lobelia was prepared to explain that it was the _principle_ of the matter – and that the Baggins' house was older than the dirt it was dug into and falling apart besides – there was a loud pounding at the door.

 

Bilbo huffed, red in the face as his blood pressure rose – serves him right the petty degenerate – and stomped loudly through the house, throwing open the door.

 

“What?!” he snapped at the guests and Lobelia gasped, scandalized at his poor behaviour.

 

Well, she'd never!

 

She gathered up her skirts and rounded the hall to the foyer as a smooth, low voice sounded from the entrance.

 

“If this is how you greet your guests, Master Baggins, then I dare say you and my brother deserve one another.”

 

Lobelia's eyes widened as she saw the tall shadow of a dwarf standing before her cousin, and Bilbo immediately back-pedalled in apology.

 

“Oh! I'm terribly sorry I wasn't expecting you! You must be Dís; I´ve heard so much about you from your sons and from Thorin – only good things, of course. My apologies again, I'm afraid I wasn't expecting you,” he prattled on, stepping aside to allow the dwarf entrance. They ducked through the round door, untying a fine fur cloak from their shoulders, another walking in behind them. Bilbo closes the door behind the newcomer, tugging on their sleeve to hiss at them indiscreetly. “You're _early_ ,” he complained.

 

The tall dwarf shrugged carelessly, a look of wry amusment on their face. “My apologies. I had hoped you would be pleased by the surprise.”

 

Bilbo's ire melted somewhat and he rose onto his toes to press a familiar kiss to the stranger's chin, taking their cloak as well. “Of course I am pleased to see you, Thorin, only you _know_ how I hate to be taken unprepared. Especially by the arrival of dwarves,” he excused pointedly, though Lobelia didn't quite understand the inside reference, she is familiar enough to know that _this_ must have been Bilbo's intended. The one he left the Shire for.

 

“And who is this?” rumbled the other voice, bringing Bilbo and Lobelia's attention to the other dwarf in the room, the one Bilbo'd referred to as Dís.

 

“Ah,” Bilbo vocalised uncomfortably, eyes darting to Lobelia in an expression of displeasure which she would have gladly met if not for their company. Because unlike some, Lobelia actually cared about etiquette and presentation.

 

Bilbo hung Thorin's travelling cloak on the rack and took Dís' as well. “Lady Dís, Thorin, this is my cousin-in-law, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins,” he introduced, distractedly. “Lobelia meet King Thorin Oakenshield and his sister the Lady Dís.”

 

The dwarves nodded their heads politely, and Lobelia squeaked, dropping into an approximation of a curtsy, blood rushing to her cheeks. Not only _dwarves_ , but foreign _royalty_. Honestly, his parents would be ashamed of his lack of decorum, apparent familiarity aside.

 

“It is my pleasure to meet your acquaintance, ah... your majesties?” Lobelia welcomeed hesitantly, unsure of foreign protocol. A King, after all, is nothing like the Thain.

 

King Thorin grunted coolly, Lobelia could only imagine what kind of slander Bilbo'd said about her to him, much to her mortification, but the Lady Dís reached out to shake her hand. “Well met,” she responded personably, and Lobelia noted that her hands are large and cool, with calluses from skilled labour.

 

Lobelia could not help but stare, having never seen a Dwarf before in person. In fact, Lobelia had been under the impression that there were no lady-dwarves at all, so implied the books she'd read, and she could see why that might be the popular rumour, as the Lady Dís did look an awful lot like her brother, their family resemblance quite apparent. Both were quite tall, wore trousers, which Lobelia found rather scandalous, and both had long, (straight; no bouncy, hobbit-curls in sight) dark hair and thick beards, intricately plaited and decorated with fine, silver beads. They shared the same nose; long and straight, and distinctly regal looking.

 

But the Lady Dís, when one cared to actually look at her, was distinctly feminine, in spite of the beard and the trousers. The plaits of her beard and hair were more delicate and ornate than King Thorin's more practical affair. Thick, long lashes and high cheekbones, a jaw not so thickly defined, and of course the curve of her bust, made more apparent by the cinching of her belt sat higher around her middle than that of her brother, whose waist was not so high. She was shorter than her brother, narrower in the shoulder and wider around the hip, and, though it would be easy to confuse them both for gentle-dwarves at a glance, especially when ensconced in outerwear as they had been, Lobelia could only think that the writers of those books she'd read had obviously never met the Lady Dís, for she could be nothing but a lady. She supposed that all hobbits must look the same to dwarves as well, with narry a whisker between the lot of them.

 

 _´Perhaps,'_ she thought senselessly, _'the dwarves see us all as womenfolk.´_

 

The Lady Dís raised a thick brow at Lobelia's intrusive staring, though she did not reprimand her. Still, Lobelia flushed and quickly glanced away, turning to see Bilbo making use of himself by dragging Thorin's packs away, shouting as he went that of course he'll make the weary travellers some tea. King Thorin boomed in reply that the gesture was unnecessary and grabbed her cousin by the wrist as he went to pass him, doubtlessly to make his way down the other corridor toward the kitchen. Thus halted, Bilbo startled, staring up at the dwarf who pulled him closer so they stood nearly chest to chest, locking them in a heated, intimate gaze.

 

The ensuing silence was thick and full of tense energy, like one false move could spark and set the two ablaze.

 

"I see now what the boys were talking about in their letters," said the Lady Dís wryly, effectively ruining their moment. "It's a good thing I've yet to settle in, as I think it would be more prudent for me to spend my evening elsewhere."

 

"Dís-" King Thorin began in protest.

 

"But you can't go, you've only just got here!" exclaimed Bilbo, as though he had eyes for anyone but his king.

 

"And I have no desire to stay and bear witness to your reunion. I shall return tomorrow, perhaps," Lady Dís punctuated her declaration by turning and gathering her bags, still cluttering the narrow foyer, her mind well and truly made up.

 

"Mistress Baggins," Lady Dís directed toward her.

 

"Sackville-Baggins," Lobelia corrected automatically, before her mind caught up with her mouth. "Ah- But please, just Lobelia is fine, Milady."

 

Lady Dís smiled and nodded in concession. "Mistress Lobelia, is there perhaps an inn here in Hobbiton you could direct me to?"

 

"Well, yes," Lobelia began, "but I could not in good conscience allow you to spend your money at an inn when I've a guest room free at my smial!"

 

"I would not wish to put you out," Lady Dís demured politely.  
  
"Nonsense! We hobbits are proud of our hospitality!" she boasted and scuttled to the door to hold it open for the Lady who gave no further objection.

 

The walk to Lobelia's house from Bagshot Row was lengthy, as the Baggins Smial inherited by her husband lay in Hobbiton proper, rather than on its outskirts like Bag End, but the two women soon found themselves in the Sackville-Baggins' humble hole.

 

As Lobelia had meant to complain earlier, the Smial was old and worn. The craftsmanship was dated and in need of repair, and the tunnels were not so expansive as Bag End, though Lobelia would concede that it _was_ still a respectable home, not quite in such an advanced state of decay as she may have meant to imply, and well kept besides. She led Lady Dís down the hall to one of the guest rooms and left her to settle herself in.

 

"I'll just make us some tea and sandwiches," she excused herself. "The kitchen is just off the sitting room, through the dining room. Please, make yourself at home." She gave another awkward little curtsy and scurried away to make herself useful.

 

Dís looked around the small guest room, cosily decorated as were the halflings' wont, and fastidiously tidy. It didn't take long to settle in; most of her trunks tucked neatly into the corner with the few things she´d need tonight quickly unpacked and lined up on the writing desk.

 

She'd see about drawing a bath after she'd eaten, though she could hardly wait to be clean of the sweat and dirt from days of travelling, and the much-appreciated opportunity to re-apply her braids.

 

For now, though, she backed out of the long hallway and wandered though the smial, curiously observing the halflings´ home. Most of the home was old and worn, both in terms of architecture and furnishings, but they were carefully and lovingly tended to, and Dís found that she was quite comfortable in this little hole in the ground.

 

Sure enough, the dining room let off into a bright kitchen where Mistress Lobelia stood assembling plates of small finger-sandwiches and saucers carrying delicate porcelain tea-cups steaming with the fragrant beverages.

 

"Ah! Milady- I´ve made us cucumber and tomato sandwiches, I hope that's all right. I don't know how much you´ve had to eat today, but Tea is normally a light meal, and Dinner will be coming up soon, anyway. And Supper, of course, so you needn't worry about going hungry." Lobelia looked up and grinned a nervously beatific smile before somehow bundling all of the plates into her arms, without spilling even a drop of tea, and carried them effortlessly into the dining room.

 

"Cucumber-tomato sandwiches sound lovely, thank you. Though, I do look forward to Dinner. I think I shall never have to worry about going hungry for as long as I am in the Shire. If there is one thing you halflings know well, it is food."

 

Lobelia's brows furrowed and she blinked, a mixture of confused distaste crossing her face. "Hobbits are not 'half' of anything, much less a Dwarf," she stated, protesting the unfavourable term before her mind could catch up with her mouth, a problem she'd long tried to overcome in the name of manners. Once the words left her lips she covered her mouth, eyes widening in panicked dismay.

 

Dís took no offence, however, more than used to the lack of decorum from her brother and children. "My apologies," the lady excused, "I meant no offence. Your people are not well-known outside of the Shire, and many of the tall-folk use that term on the rare occasions that you're made reference to. A head is hardly half," she conceded wryly, referencing their respective height difference. "Although, to that point, _our_ people are not called ´Dwarves´ either, but rather ´Dwarrows´. And I, of course, am a Dwarrowdam," she corrected greatly.

 

Lobelia was mollified by the apology and relaxed, a touch of pink dusting her cheeks at her own faux-pas. "Oh, I see. I'm terribly sorry, we don't learn much about folk beyond the Shire, and most of us have never met a foreigner. Not even Men who patrol our borders- unless, of course, one lives on the border. Or in Bree. But big-folk never wander so far inland as Hobbiton, so there's never been much of a need to learn."

 

Dís nodded understandingly. "Of course." The Hobbit smiled and the two took a seat at the round table.

 

An awkward but not uncomfortable silence overtook them as they started their meal. Though Dís would have preferred something with meat, the small sandwiches were refreshing, and she found she enjoyed the taste of the herbal seasoning. It sated her hunger for the moment, taking the edge off, though her mind wandered to the thought of a hearty dinner.

 

The tea, however, was floral and grassy and Dís hid a grimace as she tried to surreptitiously push the saucer away from her, lest she be tempted to take another draught of it. Tea was not a dwarvish beverage, and she longed for something fuller- ale or perhaps mead. Even fresh, cool water would be preferable to what ultimately amounted to boiled leaves. And flowers, if the taste was anything to go by.

 

"Where is it that you hail from?" Lobelia asked after polishing off one of her own sandwiches. "I know that you and King Thorin – and Bilbo – are headed toward …Erebor, was it? But I'm afraid I've forgotten where it was you were coming _from_. Somewhere in the Blue Mountains?"

 

Dís swallowed, nodding. "The Blue Mountains, yes. In the old city of Belegost is where we have lived until now."

 

The hobbit nodded politely, though the slight glaze to her eye belied her ignorance of the dwarvish strongholds of Ered Luin.

 

A small smile graced Dís face as she continued, indulging the hobbit's need for polite conversation. "The journey from Ered Luin to the Shire takes a week, give or take the weather conditions. Five days with the ponies."

 

Lobelia looked horrified at the mere thought of a five day journey, much less a whole week.

 

Dís gave a low chuckle. "It's actually quite a short journey," she explained. "It will take weeks before we arrive in Rivendell, and months before we are finally back at home in Erebor."

 

The hobbit scrunched her nose up in distaste. "That sounds absolutely dreadful, I simply don't know how you could bear it. The fact that Bilbo has made this journey not once, but _twice_ now, preparing for yet another go, is simply mind-boggling. Why ever would anyone want to travel so far from home? Especially here in the Shire! We've everything anyone could possibly want here. There's simply no need for travelling, especially such long distances as those. Though, of course, poor Bilbo is a bit Tookish; takes after his mother, that one; and the Tooks have always been a bit, well, _uncivilized._ No offence meant to you, though, My Lady! Or to your people- only, Hobbits simply are not made for adventuring."

 

"No, I shouldn't think so," Dís agreed. "Most Hobbits seem to be creatures of comfort that I've noticed." Lobelia nodded firmly, taking her observation as accurate.

 

"Speaking of comfort," the dwarrowdam wiped her hands and mouth with the napkin, brushing her beard free of breadcrumbs, "I hope it wouldn't be too much of an imposition to ask for a bath. I have already had several days on the road, and as I said, it will be a long while before we are able to take another hot bath. It's best to take advantage of such luxuries when they're available."

 

"Oh!" Lobelia exclaimed, jumping up, happy to be of use. "Of course. I´ll draw one for you now. It won't take a momen!" She took the plates into the kitchen and deposited them into the sink to be washed later, before brushing past Dís, presumably on her way to the bath room.

 

While the hobbit drew the bath, Dís went back to her own room to remove her boots and top layers, and to unbraid her hair and beard.

 

She stood in front of the tall mirror in her shirtsleeves, toes wriggling vulnerably against the threadbare rug as she brushed out all the tangles and loose strands from her hair when Lobelia knocked on the door.

 

"My Lady?" she called uncertainly. "The bath is ready."

 

Dís set down the brush and opened the door. Lobelia blinked for a moment at the sight of the princess before leading her down the hall to the bath room. The door opened to reveal a large, deep basin, steam rising and filling the room with humid, fragrant steam. Herbs and oils had been added for various purposes and Dís was reminded of the tea. She could admit that she was much more inclined to bathe in it than she was to drink it.

 

The dwarrowdam nearly moaned at the sight and eagerly began to strip off the remainder of her clothes, immodest and unashamed in her nudity.

 

Lobelia's mouth dropped as the dwarrowdam undressed. Hobbits were no strangers to nudity (the plethora of fauntlings didn't just pop up in cabbage patches after all), but generally the more intimate of liaisons were well arranged beforehand. But Lobelia greedily took in the sight of the skin on display, firm and muscular unlike any hobbit she'd seen, scars of varying sizes littering her tanned skin. She caught a glimpse of dark hair between the dwarrow's legs as she stepped into the bath and Lobelia jumped to action.

 

"Please, let me help," Lobelia insisted, quickly tying up her own curls before unfastening her dress, her fingers quick and deft.

 

Dís was startled, having nearly forgotten the hobbit was still in the room. "That's really not necessary," she started, but was too late to stop the hobbit's dress from dropping to a puddle around her large feet.

 

Hobbits were curiously hairless compared to dwarrows who were naturally hirsute, the smaller creatures having naught but thick patches of curls atop their heads, between their legs, and proudly crowning the tops of their feet. The rest of the hobbit's body was smooth and any hair was fine and downy, if it was there at all, not at all like the dark black hairs that dusted Dís arms, legs and belly, not to mention her beard which was nearly unheard of on hobbits, or womenfolk of any race. And where the hobbit's locks were fine and curly, the dwarrowdam's were thick and straight, the only hint of wave courtesy of the braids which normally adorned her long tresses.

 

And while both races were quite thick, in place of a dwarrow's hard muscles, the hobbitess was all soft curves and plushness. Indeed, every hobbit she had seen had the plumpness of well-fed domesticity, but then, none of them had she seen naked.

 

Dís licked her lips and nodded her assent, sliding forward to allow Lobelia to climb in behind her. "Trust me, bathing is much more relaxing with two people," she insisted, reaching for the lade. "Tilt your head back."

 

Dís had not shared a bath since she was a babe splashing round with her brothers back in the Lonely Mountain so many years ago, and the nostalgia overcame any protests.

 

Tilting her head back, the hobbit poured the warm water over her head, careful not to get it in her eyes. Once thoroughly wetted, she lathered it up with soap and this time the dwarrowdam did moan, overcome by the pleasure of clever fingers scrubbing at her scalp.

 

"Yes, you see? It's much better with another person," Lobelia crowed as she began to rinse the soap.

 

Dís admit that she was right, and found herself relaxing despite herself.

 

After the long, black hair had been rinsed clean, Lobelia pushed it over the taller lady's shoulders in order to scrub her back with the wash cloth. Pulling the princess' hair back again, Lobelia started on her arms, moving over her shoulders and down to her hands, massaging the calloused palms with her own soft fingers. Skipping the middle for the moment, Lobelia leaned to the side to reach for the tall woman's feet, fortunately bent close in the confines of the tub.

 

Dís flinched as the terrycloth brushed the sensitive soles of her feet, tickling. Still, she made no move to dissuade her, allowing the hobbit to pamper her.

 

Lobelia carefully cleaned her feet, smaller than hobbit feet, in spite of how much bigger they were in nearly every other aspect, the skin so smooth and thin as a newborn, with none of the hard callouses borne from a lifetime of walking barefoot. She longed to dig her thumbs into the meat of them and rub out the pain of hard travel, but moved on to lather her calves.

 

They were so well formed, the muscles hard under her fingers, the soap lathering the soft, dark hairs as she moved up her thighs. There was a modicum of softness there, but the muscle was just there beneath her fingers.

 

Determined, Lobelia quickly continued her way upward, searching for any trace of softness in this warrior.

 

Her belly was hard and defined and Dís sighed, leaning her head back against Lobelia's shoulders as she drew her cloth up the trail leading tantalizingly from her navel to the apex of her thighs.

 

She quickly continued on up her sides and under her arms before finally pulling her cloth over the Lady's breast, and yes, finally – the soft plushness she was looking for. She carefully cleaned one and then the other, dragging her cloth along the soft underside. They didn't hang as Lobelia's did, her race more buxom than most, but rather they were a modest swell, proportional to her body and therefore escaping Lobelia's small hands when she cupped them. She imagined that they would be a pleasant handful for any gentledwarrow though, and that was a pleasant vision that she wished she could see.

 

She abandoned the terrycloth as her hands worked the soap into the soft skin, fingers kneeding and brushing sensually over the peaks of her hardening nipples.

 

"Is this the way all hobbits bathe one another?" Dís asked, breaking the heavy silence, repressing a gasp as Lobelia gave a light pinch.

 

"No," the hobbit confessed, "but I did not know that there _were_ ladies of the dwarvish race until today, and I was curious. I wanted to see if you were like me; like a hobbit lass. Are you uncomfortable?"

 

Dís turned her head, her long nose brushing Lobelia's plump cheek. "No," she breathed. "It has been so long since I have taken a lover. But you are so young," she pressed her lips beneath one small, pointed ear. "Are you even old enough to take a husband yet?"

 

Lobelia giggled, ducking her face down into the dwarrowdam's shoulders. "No," she confessed. "I'm 24 years. A hobbit doesn't reach majority until thirty-tree, but my beloved came of age last year and we were married then," she explained, her thumbs rubbing circles around the lady's hardened peaks.

 

Dís drew in a startled breath, scandalized but trying to deny it. "And yet you would touch another woman so? Your husband would not mind?"

 

Lobelia smiled against her shoulder, kissing the sharp slope as she squeezed the flesh between her fingers. "No, he would not. My Otho is rather generous, really. He is quite used to sharing me. Though, normally, he does prefer to watch, if not participate, he'll not begrudge me my fun. And I´ll not begrudge him his while he's away in the Eastfarthing."

 

Such liberal relations were unheard of in her culture, but Dís admit she was curious about the young creature's lascivious activities.

 

"You and your husband lie with others?"

 

"Mmhmm," Lobelia confirmed pinching one hard nipple between her fingers, twisting it until Dís moaned from the pleasurable ache, her other hand travelling down the toned slope of her belly, fingers sliding through the trail of hair into the thick garden atop her womanhood, fingers teasing about the princess' outer lips. "Sometimes we share another together, a gentlehobbit or a lass, the three of us in our bed. Sometimes it's only me and some other lover, and Otho will simply watch – he likes that the most, I think; the watching. Sometimes we will pair up with another couple and switch partners for the night. Rarely do we take a lover without discussing it, but sometimes needs must. Spontaneity and all that."

 

Dís chuckled and pressed an open mouthed kiss into the tween's soft neck, her thighs opening wider to encourage the wandering fingers.

 

"And I thought you said hobbits were not made for adventure."

 

Lobelia wrinkled her nose even as her fingers slipped between the dwarrowdam's slick folds, kneeding and massaging the plump globe of her breast.

 

"And we're not!" she claimed emphatically. "Adventures are tiresome and dangerous and uncomfortable things that take you away from home and make you late to dinner. A frolic can be done in the comfort of one's _own_ home and you can take your dinner to bed with you!"

 

Dís laughed even as she arched her back, pushing her breast into the lass' hand, hitching her hips into her deft fingers as they began to firmly rub her clitoris.

 

The sensual bathing had already aroused her and she quickly lost herself to the hobbit's ministrations. There was no hurry or desperation to her movements, and Lobelia's attentions were not rushed.

 

The hobbit was simply enjoying the opportunity to explore the foreign woman's body, and Dís relaxed into the warm water and soft comfort of her young lover, each pressing kisses onto the skin that they could reach.

 

The water soon cooled, though, the temperature against Dís lust-warmed skin bringing her back to the present.

 

"We should get out," she murmured against Lobelia's neck.

 

The hobbit hummed in agreement. The two stayed for a moment, neither moving to get out, but they couldn't lay in the tepid water forever and eventually Dís leaned forward, the water level dropping as Lobelia stood and climbed out of the basin.

 

She quickly wrapped a bathtowel around her body, handing another to Dís as she stood from the water.

 

Dís wrapped the towel around her dripping locks before stepping out and into the other linen the hobbit held open for her.

 

"Thank you," Dís said gratefully, her words referring to more than the towl.

 

"Of course," Lobelia replied. "What kind of hostess would I be if I didn't take care of my guests?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had to read like 6 different Tolkien wiki pages on Bilbo's family in order to get everything right, and apparently Lobelia was only 23 when Bilbo left for Erebor, which is a good 10 years below the age of majority, however OTHO would have been turning 33. It doesn't give the exact date of their marriage, but I'm thinking that they got married while Bilbo was en route either to or from Erebor, and was therefore unable to attend their wedding. 
> 
> Drogo is Bilbo's second cousin on his father's side, and Primula is Bilbo's first cousin on his mother's side, so he's really killing 2 birds with 1 stone by giving Bag End to his favourite cousin, Drogo, considering his gross affections for Primula and the obvious marriage that's in the works for them. As explained in chapter [17](http://archiveofourown.org/works/731818/chapters/1846839) of Into the Fire, Bag End was a dowry, built by Bungo for Belladonna, and as such is NOT part of the Baggins family estates, so it wouldn't automatically go to Otho. (Though it also wouldn't go to Hildibrand either, as it does in Into the Fire since he- and Gerontius- are both deceased when The Hobbit takes place. I think it would have gone to Sigismond or Mirabella if it just went to Bilbo's closest relative, but I could be wrong I'm not entirely sure how one determines the closest relative in a large family like that. I went ahead and went with Sigismond as Hildebrand's son)


End file.
